


Summer, fall, the longest winter, and spring

by reddening_heart



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Kuchiki Family Feels, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24777307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddening_heart/pseuds/reddening_heart
Summary: "She thinks Ichigo really gets it: that mourning and grieving are not the same thing." This is about an estranged brother, the quiet moments when an attractive young man and a proper young lady stand very close together under the kitchen light, and Rukia's quest to find the meaning of home.
Relationships: Kuchiki Byakuya & Kuchiki Rukia, Kuchiki Rukia/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33





	Summer, fall, the longest winter, and spring

**summer**

The sun is setting with its shades of bright reds and soft oranges painting the sea. Leaning on the edge of the balcony, Rukia stares at the horizon, trying to memorize the steady hum of the waves and the salty scent that fills her nose and sticks to her skin. The air is more humid in the quiet of this evening. She can already picture the rain that will come later that night, cool and soothing after a boiling day. For now, though, the clouds are scarce in the sky and what she sees is stunning. She regrets having ever taken it for granted. Her grip on the rail loosens. Summer has not always been her favorite season for nothing: that is when Seireitei is the most beautiful, really. She thinks that it is no wonder why her father fell in love with this town, why he left his old job behind to settle here. This is the place where Rukia’s parents met almost eighteen years ago, and where her father will remain forever now. This is where she was born and where she grew up, her roots and her anchor.

It's hard, saying goodbye.

“It’s time to go, Rukia.”

She isn’t used to Byakuya’s deep, flat voice yet. Her name sounds too foreign on his tongue.

“Yes, Brother,” she nods quickly. “I’m coming.” She lingers at the door and looks back one last time. Then, she picks up a thick folder binder full of old drawings – precious memories – and rushes outside to find all her friends gathered. Some are smiling gently while others are crying loudly (or that’s just Orihime – bless her heart – really). The car starts up and the rumbling of the engine reverberates against the narrow street. “It’s time to go”, she says to herself this time; a soft whisper.

-

The ride is silent. Now and then, she will peek at her left – a shy attempt at finding some familiarity in this foreign face. But Byakuya always looks the same: proper and contained and detached just like when she first met him five days ago. Just like how he kept during their father’s funeral.

About her half-brother, Rukia does not know much. Some wounds stay fresh no matter how many years have passed, and she has always thought it was not hers to pry. Once, she overheard neighbors gossiping about how he had just turned 18 when their dad married Rukia’s estranged mother. There was also a picture of his graduation from a prestigious university on the desk upstairs. And if his car is any indication, he isn’t doing too bad at his job now. Oh, of course, Byakuya did call their dad from time to time. Mostly on special occasions like his birthday or New Year. But beyond that, he has never addressed her personally, nor has he ever set a foot in their house before the past few days.

Nevertheless, he is all she’s got now. She turns her head and leans against the window, watching the city lights dancing against her reflection. Whatever will become of them is a mystery. What Rukia does know is that she does not want to become dead weight.

They pass a sign. It says: “Welcome to Karakura”.

-

Settling down is easier than she expected. Her brother’s apartment is rather spacious and clear. Simple but elegant; it suits him, Rukia thinks. She progressively gets used to the cold floor and white walls of the rooms. While decidedly less… welcoming than her previous home, she realizes that they provide a refreshing atmosphere when the air gets hot and sticky. Generally speaking, Karakura lacks the marine wind and luscious greenery of Seireitei. Instead, as her guidebook so poetically described, the city’s a concrete jungle which serves as a burning oven in the summer.

Her walls are rapidly covered with various pieces of work. At first, they’re mainly portraits of old friends and sceneries of her old town because, well, homesickness is the theme and she’ll stick to it as long as necessary. After two months of exploring the city alone, though, Rukia realizes that Karakura has some things to offer too. It lacks the peacefulness she’s so used to – people are always running after one thing or another, a bus, a cab, an angry lover – but the lights at night and the sound of the city fascinate her. It is a living being that awakens as the sun sets, and she enjoys observing it from afar. Sure enough, she starts scribbling angles and lines and architectural shadows. Nevertheless, this feels more like a holiday expedition than a home. She remains a stranger. It’s hard to resist the longing for a connection, to see these tiny pieces of life and accept not being part of any of it. To feel home in her new room proves difficult: like the town itself, it is too big, too imposing, too overwhelming.

When summer is almost over, Byakuya gets back to work. Rukia learns how demanding and invading the publishing world can be through his busy schedule. He leaves early in the morning and spends his day going through meetings after meetings (or so says Ms. Matsumoto, his secretary, every time Rukia occasionally drops by his office to… You know… Do some sibling bonding or whatever). Whenever they eat together, it is in silence. It could be just her with her self-consciousness – Rukia is very much aware of how much she indulges in overthinking and projecting – but the atmosphere feels tense and awkward every time. Occasionally, he will ask her to run an errand or two for him but mostly, his mind strays away, probably returning to whatever book he is working on.

Since they moved in together, he has barely ever looked at her in the eye.

-

On one too many nights alone at the apartment, Rukia ends up in Byakuya’s office. It is expectedly tidy and clean. She knows she shouldn’t be there, that this is a mistake and since when has she become so nosy? But classes haven’t started yet and she’s bored, so very bored. The bookcases are loaded with various works, from philosophy to theater, and even some volumes of poetry. She’s surprised to recognize many of them; their dad has raised them alike. Then she loses interest and focuses on the desk. What appears like an expensive fountain pen and a thick block of paper are neatly placed on it. An impressive number of files – thick, heavy extra work that is still waiting for when he gets home – is piling up on the corner of the table. They contain the many manuscripts waiting to be subjected to Byakuya’s merciless judgment (if Ms Matsumoto’s colorful anecdotes are any indication. Rukia believes her.).

But what really catches her eye is the white frame sitting in the opposite corner. It is an old picture and her heart clenches a bit as Rukia instantly recognizes the younger version of her father. He is all smile and ease, handsome and affectionate as he puts one arm around the shoulders of a 10-ish-year-old boy. At first glance, he seems to scowl, his mouth set into a firm line and arms folded. Yet, when she looks better, Rukia notices how relaxed his shoulders are and how admiringly a young Byakuya is looking at their father.

That night, she tosses and turns in her bed. She thinks of the distant image of a mother she’s never gotten to know. She remembers how, after the funeral, Inoue’s mom and their family lawyer told her that Byakuya had been appointed as her legal guardian. How everyone got very quiet until she nodded and drew back to the dark of her room.

-

**fall**

School is both a relief and a new source of dread. A relief because, finally, it gives her something else to think about, a distraction of sorts. And dread because, frankly speaking, her results are appalling.

  
Staying still in her chair, Rukia watches how her nails are digging deep in the flesh. They will leave reddish crescent moons and a numbed feeling on her palm. Once in a while, she glances at what’s become an almost mundane scene now – it is the third time in less than a month: her brother’s composed figure faces her school Principal, old and bald and grave. Ms. Shihoin stands behind him, leaning coolly against the wall. She winks at her playfully, a way to reassure her Rukia guesses.

“Of course, we do understand how complicated the situation probably is for you and your sister, sir. Arriving in the middle of the year must not be easy either. However, we are an elite institution and it is our duty to check in for our students’ well-being and adaptation. So far, Ms. Kuchiki seems to have faced… difficulties with catching up in her classes.”

“Actually, her results are excellent in Literature, History and the Arts,” Ms. Shihoin cuts in. “I believe she is quite the bright mind. She has the potential to do a lot better provided that she stops letting herself get overwhelmed and distracted.”

Rukia blushes, lowers her head in an effort to sink into her chair. Her mind does tend to wander on its own volition. It leads her eyes to the red and golden leaves floating in the sky she can see through the windows. It guides her hand as she doodles rabbits and trees and imagined faces on her notebooks, her teacher’s silvery voice a vague sound as he explains about Cartesian equations and limits and everything about why it will never be useful in her life.

“I see,” Byakuya simply replies.

They bow as they exit the Principal’s office. She walks him to the front gate. “I’d better go now. I have an important meeting so don’t wait for me tonight,” he tells her as he leaves. For an instant - just a millisecond - he looks at her, eyes grey and sharp, and something in her just sinks. Then he nods swiftly and disappears as he gets in his car. Behind her, she can hear a group of girls passing, joyful and hyper. She can hear the whispers and the chatter, feel her back burning under curious stares. Since her first day, Rukia has been dubbed weird and unapproachable. She can’t bring herself to care.

What she cares about is not being a disappointment.

-

“So, tell me EVERYTHING!” Orihime’s voice is shrill through the phone. “How’s your new school? Is the uniform cute? Did you make new friends?”

Rukia sighs and readjusts herself, upside down against the bed wall. “Well, you know, it’s alright. I’m getting by just fine.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. We miss you so, so much Rukia! Renji’s been bugging me non-stop about it. I told him to call you himself, but you know how he is. I don’t know if he’s playing dumb or –”

Rukia smiles, then. It’s a warm, fuzzy feeling, talking to Orihime.

“I miss you all very much too. I’ve been trying to save up so I can come and visit you guys.”

“You know mom and dad would looove to have you here with us again.” Then she gets quiet and says very carefully: “You know, I think mom would’ve really liked to keep you with us. I remember seeing arguing with your brother in our living room.”

“I’m really grateful for all your family has done for me and Dad, Inoue. Tell your mom I said hi.”

Rukia spends her evening staring at the ceiling after that. There are things that seem purposefully out of her reach, out of her control. She does not understand.

-

Usually, Rukia comes home late in the afternoon because she likes to stop by the river on the way (because if there’s no sea, she’ll settle for any other body of water; there’s something intriguing yet familiar, something that fascinates her in the way the water moves and scintillates). Then, she follows a well-defined routine. She changes, prepares tea and tries to focus on her homework with all her books spread over the kitchen table. Then she prepares dinner, leaves Byakuya’s plate to heat and heads up in her room before he gets home (she has given up on awkward sibling bonding time...). In the middle of her studying, she’ll sometimes end up sketching in her diary or completely absorbed by whatever book she took from one of the living room shelves, but she’s been controlling her urges better these days. She hasn’t mastered the disciplinarian philosophy of her new school just yet, but there’s a sense of urgency in it being her last year before leaping into adulthood and the quest for financial independence.

One evening, she gets too comfortable, lying on the living room couch and wrapped up in the ups and downs of Winter’s tale. She misses the door opening and the footsteps in the stairs.

“You should definitely have a little drink with us from time to time, Byakuya! It would help you loosen up a bit and oh –”

The stranger stops at the doorway as he locks eyes with Rukia. He’s tall and badly shaved and most of all eyes wide open. Hyperaware of her casual leggings, Chappy the Bunny extra slippers and messy knot, she instantly reddens and gets up on her feet. Fleeing! She decides fleeing is the best option.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t– I mean I’ll just– I better get–”, she stammers.

He seems amused, smiling all along and head tilted as he leans against the door.

“My, my, no need to leave, this is your home Rukia! You’re Rukia, aren’t you?”

At the sound of her name, three more tall figures appear behind him. One of them is her brother.

Really, all she wanted was to head straight to her room after greeting these unexpected guests, but Mr Kyouraku – the one she met first – insisted that she stay and chat with them. That’s how, afterwards, she finds herself serving tea to two of her brother’s biggest clients, Shunsui Kyouraku and Juushirou Ukitake, and the latter’s apprentice, Ichigo Kurosaki. They are in Karakura for a month, they say, to attend some promotional events and finish their joint book tour.

“Thanks again for letting us stay here tonight, Byakuya! Our flight was long and tiring and I thought I was going to cry when the hostel cancelled our reservation,” he says. Her brother’s expression curiously seems to indicate discomfort, but he is nodding nonetheless, and merely lets out a wistful “Don’t mention it.”

“Besides,” Kyouraku adds, “we can finally meet little Miss Rukia!” He drawls while looking at her fill up his cup again. A lazy grin creeps to his face as Rukia blushes once again. He is laid-back and way too familiar. A stark contrast to Ukitake, gentle and mild, who is quietly sipping his tea and laughing at his friend’s extravagant manners. Somehow, she has to stifle a chuckle as she imagines them all debating in a meeting, with Kyouraku’s flamboyance and Byakuya’s sternness.

The third man, Kurosaki, elbows him then.

“Don’t mind him. He’s an helpless idiot,” he explains though he sounds highly amused himself. Still, his eyes are friendly as he looks at her. He looks younger than them, younger than her brother even.

His bleached orangey hair adds to the boyish charm. She follows his gaze as it shifts to the book on her lap.

“You like Shakespeare?” he asks.

“So you’re a romantic, Rukia!” Kyouraku coos in the background.

Her mouth curls into a smile. “Not at all. But he’s witty and irreverent without it ever feeling reductive. I guess it’s just fun reading him, sir.”

At that, Kurosaki chuckles. “Just call me Ichigo. I’m closer in age to you than to the geezers.”

It sends warmth to the back of her neck as she holds his stare. But whatever this moment was, it ends shortly as Ukitake remarks: “You should read Shunsui’s work then, Rukia! His books are all about – how did you tell him to describe it, Byakuya? Oh, right. A mirror of society’s decadence and man’s boundless inanity!”

“More like murders, perversion and more murders. He’s a closet psychopath.”

Ukitake chuckles at his assistant’s remark and his friend’s exaggerated pout.

“Come back when you’ve actually written something and FINISHED IT, Mr. Ichigo Kurosaki,” Kyouraku snaps back before sighing deeply. “But seriously, Juushirou, how do you pick them? Couldn’t you find a nice and cute lady instead?”

Their interactions are carefree and refreshing, an incredible change of pace from her usual evenings at home. Rukia cannot help but smile the entire time through. But suddenly, her brother, who has kept silent during the whole exchange, puts down his cup.

“It’s late, Rukia”.

It’s firm, dry. An order. She jumps in her seat, gives frantic nods. As she starts coming up the stairs, she hears: “I hope we can meet again, Miss Rukia!”

Voices ring as they reach her room, but they are gone by morning.

-

**winter**

They do meet again.

It’s a Saturday afternoon when Rukia goes to Byakuya’s office to get an authorization signed for one last class excursion before the winter break. She’s surprised to find them there, fresh out of a meeting with her brother and talking with Matsumoto about the next appointment. When Kyouraku sees her, he waves warmly. They ask her about school and how she’s adjusting to Karakura, the usual things politeness requires. But then, Ukitake insists on her having tea with them.

“It seems like Byakuya still has a lot of things to settle in there, you see,” he explains lightly. “Come on, Rukia-san! It will do you good. Don’t you like pastries?”

It’s dangerously impossible, saying no to this man. So she joins them for bergamot tea and cinnamon cookies in the cozy coffee house down the street. They explain that they agreed on staying in Karakura a bit longer because the city has been inspiring Ukitake a lot for his next book about an architect slash medium.

“And I’ll just follow him wherever he goes,” Kyouraku says in a fake sing-song voice.

“And I just follow wherever they go,” Kurosaki – no, Ichigo, he told her again – finishes. They laugh.

Rukia gets it though, the weird pull this city has. The first snow of the year happened two weeks ago and Karakura looks sharper than ever, covered in white and peaking grey.

“I really feel you,” she says shyly, “Karakura has been inspiring my drawings a lot too lately”. Her fingers graze the back of her bag.

“You draw?” Ichigo asks, curiosity tinging his voice.

“Not as much as before,” and here she bites her lip, “because I have to focus on my studies. It’s my last year after all. But here and there…” Rukia decides that showing is better than telling and gets her sketchpad out. She shows them her latest ones, rough figures and detailed spaces of grey. Ukitake nods appreciatively and Kyouraku whistles:

“Damn you really captured Karakura’s spirit with these, didn’t you?”

She blushes, says thanks. It reminds her of moments with her friends, of her dad, of gifting quick doodles here and there. It’s been a while.

Then, Kyouraku adds: “Aren’t you touched by such a beautiful homage to your hometown, Ichigo?”

“I am, yes,” he replies with unsettling genuineness. He appraises her in a gaze that’s softer than she remembers. “I’m starting to feel inspired too.”

-

Rukia meets them more often after that.

It’s mostly Ichigo, though. Regularly, he is sent over to deliver something for her brother at their house or at his office. Every time, he’ll linger a little and they will have a quick chat. She’s surprised to learn he’s only 20, even more to discover he’s been working under Ukitake’s mentorship for three years already now. All in all, Rukia likes his stories and his eagerness whenever he speaks of his apprenticeship, of his shortened high school years and of a family who’s been way too elated and hyper ever since he came back in town. She also likes how easy it is to tease him and how he indulges her sparring, how interested he is in her new readings and art and music taste and food preferences and latest obsessions and...She is not naïve. This is nothing more than a transitional crush. But she’s been talking to herself for months now. With him, it’s all about simplicity and comfort – like sitting on a balcony and reveling in the sun’s coral rays in the summer.

-

She’s coming back from her winter break “last chance” class – her brother’s latest attempt at salvaging her academic future – when Rukia sees him waiting at the front door, arms crossed.

“Why the hell are you getting home this late?”

“You’re always dying to see me Ichigo,” she greets back in a singsong voice.

“I’m just dying of cold actually,” he grumbles, his hands sinking in the pockets of his jacket. “But I could see the connection.”

“You know, there’s this thing called an e-mail. It even has an “attached file” option that’s very practical, you should try it,” she ignores him and takes out her keys. “You wouldn’t have to go back and forth here anymore.”

Ichigo smirks. “I wouldn’t do that to us, Rukia” he says and hurries inside before her fist reaches his arm.

“You are the biggest, dumbest buffoon,” she sighs then, but his grin doesn’t wane.

Thirty minutes later, they’re at the kitchen table – their habitual spot now –, him sipping his tea, her already engrossed in her math exercises. For quite some time, he just watches her, then her books sprawled all over. In the beginning, she would just push back her homework while he’d be there and try to be a pleasant host. Then she realized that he didn’t mind and that she really needed that extra time if she ever wanted to dare dream of improving. (Also, most of the time, he is too aggravating and cocky to deserve such thoughtful attention anyway).

“So,” he finally starts, “where were–”

“Extra classes,” she anticipates and says rather dryly, irritated at an unsolvable equation.

“Really?” Ichigo tilts his head to the side. “Prep class?”

“No,” she sighs, “extra classes for the kids far behind.” She looks away. “I’m not a very bright student you see,” she explains matter-of-factly. Maybe too bitterly, too, considering the look he gives her then.

“You’re very smart though,” he says, voice soft but steady. She rolls her eyes and stretches out her arms. It’s enough numbers and formulas for today, she thinks.

“Well there’s the fact that Karakura High is far more elitist than my previous high school. But even back in Seireitei I had to miss a lot of classes to stay with my father. It was just the both of us so for the past two years for doctors’ appointments it was just easier to ditch…” She catches herself. It’s still not easy, she realizes. Ichigo has never asked about it and she’s grateful for that; she’s just not very sure of how she should, could, talk about it. The last thing she wants is pity. So far, her life has been an intricate knot of complexities and she’s getting tired of it.

She decides to shift her focus to gathering her books and notes. But his fingers are sudden and gentle around her wrist and Rukia swears, really, she swears she cannot look away.

“I get it,” he says voice low, “I guess I’m the same. Maybe we’ll get around talking about it someday.” And his mouth curls lightly at her dumbfounded face.

Then his hand falls away.

“Well, now that you’re done with the boring stuff, what about doing something fun?”

-

“You know”, Ichigo remarks as his fingers trace her walls and his eyes travel around the room, “you show me the crappy bunny stuff so often that I sometimes forget you’re actually good.”

Rukia huffs in indignation and elbows him in the ribs, but just lightly. His look of genuine admiration is enough for her to forgive the insult.

“I’m glad you finally acknowledge my superior skills,” she jokes. “People on the internet pay for my art, you know. AND NO IT’S NOT FOR FILTHY THINGS YOU PERVERT –”

It’s so easy to read him, she bites back a laugh. In truth, her stomach is full of knots and her toes curl in her fluffy slippers. It’s the hyperawareness that he (an attractive young man) is standing in her (a dignified, proper young lady) room, that they are alone and that this is that crush, you know?

“And look at this. Your lovely big brother,” he breaks her reverie then, her sketchbook sitting on the desk now in his hands. “Totally him. Cheerful as always.”

“Stop it, idiot.” Rukia surprises herself at the odd mix of amusement and protectiveness. She takes the block of paper from him: it’s a quick sketch made out of boredom while she was waiting in his office, inspired by the glimpses of Byakuya she could catch through the rolling blinds. The lines of his eyes are hard and focused, but his face is otherwise composed. She puts it back on her deck, sitting next to a pile of letters from Inoue and all her other friends, telling her that they miss her and that she’s welcome to drop by anytime.

“You know he can be a real pain in the ass.”

“He’s not. He’s just… very dedicated to his work.”

He gives her a look. “There are plenty other things he should dedicate himself to.” The silence that follows is a bit heavy and awkward, but he breaks it quickly enough.

“I think you’d get along well with my older sister, talking about stuff. She’s an assistant at an Art Studio.”

-

It’s winter break and the Kurosaki residence is bright and warm with the tinsels, an actual Christmas tree, and the divine scent of freshly baked cookies. Knowing Ichigo, Rukia had pictured a rather minimalist (perhaps hipsterish even) place. It’s anything but. Ichigo’s father has overabundant energy and enthusiasm – probably increased by her presence tonight – and it radiates in the entire living room, in spite of Ichigo and his sister Karin’s exasperated complains. Yuzu, his other sister, keeps shuffling between the kitchen and the dinner table, ignoring a scene which is probably customary now. Sometimes, she turns and casts her a lovely smile or exchanges a few words. And when Rukia admits she’d like to improve her cooking skills, the petite blonde completely stops on her way to explain the secrets for a perfect curry.

Karin sits next to her and casually talks about the best ramen restaurants in town, the parks where it’s nice to jog and how she doesn’t regret not going to uni. Rukia tells her of Seireitei festivals and of an overly pretentious contemporary exhibition her class had to attend the previous week.

“Ichigo says you’re very good too.”

“He’s clearly exaggerating,” she blushes.

Karin raises an eyebrow. “Or you’re clearly underrating yourself.” She lazily stretches her arm and continues: “But even so, it wouldn’t matter. I mean, when I started out, I wasn’t particularly good at making shit myself, but who cares! The important thing is that I’ve been doing what I like. Then I got lucky cause it resonated with people y’know?”

“Yes,” she nods after a beat.

“Right? I like what I like, and I just can’t care whether it’s good or not.”

It’s easy and stress-free conversing with her: their no-nonsense attitude somehow matches. She’s confident and straightforward, just like her brother. Sitting in front of her across the table, Ichigo mainly listens and smiles. Occasionally, he’ll make a comment or react to his dad’s monologue about the prodigal son who abandoned them and is ready to run away again, by graciously telling him to sod off.

Most importantly, his eyes rarely leave her, making her fingers clutch in her lap and play with the silk of her dress; for most of the evening, she fights the flush that creeps in her neck and ears, burning her skin.

Overall, she doesn’t feel as out of place as she expected. On the contrary, she’s quite enjoying herself in the lively atmosphere. At some point, Mr. Kurosaki starts sharing embarrassing allusions and suggestive eyebrow wiggling, which is when Ichigo snaps and empties the bottle of wine in the sink, prompting fake tears and tipsy bargaining. “That’s enough for you for tonight and forever, old man!” he chastises. (What a man, Rukia thinks. She decides she really likes Kurosaki senior.)

And that’s the most anyone references about her being there, and how fucking weird it truly is. That Ichigo would invite her for a family dinner. That his family would be cool with it and welcome her like an old family friend. That Byakuya would let her go. (Though that one could be attributed to him giving her a break after all the extra studying? And also him knowing Ichigo? And also maybe he doesn’t really care that much? It is dreadful how she doesn’t know what to make of it.)

-

When she exits the house, the sensation of ice melting slowly in her tongue is very pleasant. She watches glinting snowflakes falling soundlessly on her purple dress, on the dark steps she’s sitting on, and listens to the frenzy and noise spilling behind her: Yuzu and Isshin laugh warmly, Karin grumbles but sounds content nonetheless. It’s hard not to be endeared, not to feel a tiny pinching twist in the gut. Ichigo’s clear voice startles her and Rukia starts to fidget, fingertips playing with the white seams of her dress. Soon she’ll have to go, she reminds herself, and her heart grows heavy at the thought.

The door opens and within a heartbeat, he has joined her under the porch. “Wanna sit for a bit before heading back uh?”

They find themselves sitting in the front porch without saying a word, eyes staring straight ahead and knees lightly pressing together. Her cheeks flush a faint red, partly from the cold. She wets her lips; he dives his hands into his pockets.

“You okay?” he asks at last.

“I am. But I’ll have to go soon.”

“Yeah,” he answers simply.

“Are you coming to the New Year’s Eve party next week?”

“Yeah no, not my thing. Besides, Ukitake’s bringing his daughter and her boyfriend. There’s no way in hell I’m dealing with Kiyone and Sentaro ever again.” His horrified look is priceless. “Talking about idiots, you know– Sorry about Goat-chin. He’s a hopeless moron.”

“He’s your dad,” she smirks before adding: “I had fun.”

“Karin says you’re interesting.”

“She’s too nice. Right back at her.”

“I’ll pass the message. They want you to drop by anytime you want,” he replies, and his hand falls to the hem of her dress, fidgeting.

“This is pretty,” he breathes out, finally looking at her, and she cannot fight the vivid blush on her face anymore.

“A gift from my brother,” she nods. (Okay, maybe not exactly. But he did hand her a handful of bills so as to find “appropriate choices” for his office’s Christmas Eve party, and she decided to wear a new dress tonight because of… Reasons. She did feel stupid and completely overdressed when she got there and everyone was wearing Christmas sweaters, though.)

“Nice attention.”

“Stop it, fool. He did let me come here. I think he’s trying.”

“That’s right,” he lets out again, as he tugs her closer. “I’ve got something for you,” he says while taking a slim package off his jacket.

Her eyes widen. “This is–”

“Just a short draft, but I thought it might interest you. I mean, you showed me your drawings and I can’t just keep telling stories in your kitchen, so…”

She starts reading right away. She can feel him tensing at her side and is reminded of that one afternoon with him in her room and too many knots in her stomach. When she finally lifts her head, he is looking at her expectantly.

“You’re on to something,” she says and really thinks it. It’s about the aftermath of the passing of a young boy’s mother. The cynical bite is too marked to be natural rather than a crafted attempt at detachment, sure, but it’s also honest and heartfelt. She thinks Ichigo really gets it: mourning and grieving are not the same thing. They’re treading on familiar ground.

“It’s just a bit too angsty at times, maybe. There’s an appropriate balance between getting too sappy and then too edgy to overcompensate.”

“… Tough crowd. Is that a Kuchiki thing?”

At that she laughs, rough but hearty. It echoes dimly in the empty street. His fingers haven’t left her dress yet; they drop, and his thumb starts drawing circles on her knee. She feels his warmth over the thick fabric of her tight.

“So, what happens to your hero next?” she asks when she finds her breath again.

“Don’t know yet. Frankly, I’m not sure of where I’m going with this. I’ve been talking with Ukitake too. He just keeps saying I need to start throwing myself out there…”

“Uh,” she says dumbly. “Are you thinking of ending your apprenticeship with him? Flying solo?” She tries not to sound disappointed.

As she stands up, she says again: “You’ll get there. Finishing your book, I mean. Just don’t forget to send me the rest of the story when you find inspiration again.”

“Eh. I guess I’ll just have to go with the flow.” He stands up too.

“When it’s ready, I’m hoping you’ll make me a nice book cover.” He doesn’t give her time to answer and loudly yawns. “Let’s walk you home now.”

Ichigo smiles, and it reaches his eyes. It’s the prettiest thing she’s ever seen.

-

She rereads his first words again when she gets in bed.

> “We come home alone. How are we expected to live there by ourselves from now on? I am dressed in all black, and it seems to me that you wouldn't have stood it; I can hear you begging me to put on some color. To be more like myself. But I don’t feel like being that anymore. Dad tells us: the hurt will pass in time. It’s all wrong. It quiets down my mourning turmoil. I will grow up. I will start shaving. Get a first girlfriend. Graduate. I will speak less and less of it. But it will be there, Mom, my grief sitting in your place at the dinner table.”

She keeps the manuscript tucked to her chest that night.

-

She gets to the publishing house’s traditional New Year Eve party late because she got out of class late, forgot to bring her evening gown and then missed her bus station. When she steps foot inside the ballroom, she gasps at the sight of the thick crowd against golden walls and luxurious decor. It is nothing like she has ever seen, and certainly not comparable to the festivals she used to attend in Seireitei, with everyone donning traditional clothing instead. She smoothens the pleats of her purple skirt and she quickly checks in her reflection if her bun looks appropriately messy - that is, not too formal but not too "I don't know what I'm doing here" casual. It catches her off guard how much she resembles her mother on her wedding picture then. She’s always taken after her, but tonight the similarity is uncanny.

“Rukia-san!” She hears Ukitake’s voice calling her cheerfully. “I was starting to think you would never come!”

She pouts a little. “Of course I am here, sir.”

“No no no, don’t call me sir now! I didn’t mean to upset you Rukia!”

“You look lovely tonight, Miss Rukia,” Kyouraku says from behind her. Then he grins: “Kurosaki has no idea what he’s missing.”

She’s pretty sure she combusted on the spot at his words and just stares back dumbly.

Ukitake elbows him lightly and sighs: “Now you’re being inappropriate. Leave the kids alone.”

(Now she is dead, she truly is, she thinks. One can die of embarrassment, right?)

“This is your first Gotei party isn’t it? You should go and enjoy yourself! Wait, I’ll take you to Byakuya first. He’ll be very glad,” Ukitake wakes her from her daze and starts to drag her along. “He was so worried he kept checking his watch, you know.”

She swallows hard and tenses up, quite perplexed at why the man is saying it like this is supposed to be a good thing. She apologizes profusely for her lateness when she gets to her brother.

“I see,” Byakuya merely responds, but there’s the same hint of disapproval he wore when Ichigo dropped her ten minutes past curfew a week earlier.

She spends the rest of the night mostly keeping to the walls, going back and forth between the buffet and the balcony’s stunning view of the frozen river. She watches her brother as he shifts from famous writers and extravagant rookies to more solemn personalities. At some point Ukitake and Kyouraku drag her back (“Byakuya is looking for you everywhere, come on!”, they say and she scoffs) and she finds herself in a circle of discussion between them, her brother and two other strangers; that’s how she learns that Ukitake was the first deal Byakuya signed, and that the former then convinced Kyouraku and eventually their entire circle of friends to follow suit.

“At this point this is more than a business relationship, Byakuya is like a little brother to us!” Kyouraku laughs, jolly and emboldened by champagne. “And of course that makes Rukia our adorable little protégée too! Which is crazy because she and Ichigo-”

Her brother starts to cough and Ukitake takes it as a signal to pull him away. Meanwhile, one of the man beside her asks: “So you’re in your last year, Ms. Rukia? You must be very busy planning your next year then, aren’t you? What university will you enroll in? What do you want to major in?”

She’s taken aback by the row of questions. “I’m still thinking about it. I haven’t made up a decision yet.”

“Is that so? You should hurry though. Entrance exams for the top colleges are a big deal after all. It ain’t like it used to be with the competition is what I’m saying. Kids these days have sharp teeth I tell you, take too much time and you’ll get left behind …”

Then Byakuya interferes, voice acerbic. “That’s not something she needs to worry about.”

She excuses herself after that and lets out the longest sigh inside the secrecy of a bathroom stall. The thing is Rukia hasn’t been completely honest. She has thought about it, long and hard actually; but April seems far away and she’s not ready to make a choice just yet. She got flyers of local universities to major in their Art department, but her grades – although they have definitely improved – won’t open the doors to “the best institutions”, as this guy and her brother seem to have in mind. She thinks she wouldn’t want to join something like this anyways. She doesn’t want Byakuya to waste more money on her; she’d rather work right away, make something of herself from her blank state of pennilessness. Still, as she listens to him confirm what he thinks of her, Rukia feels her eyes stinging.

Then she hears footsteps and a voice she recognizes.

“Ok you’ve got to tell me now, Rangiku. What’s the deal with Kuchiki? He goes from single workaholic bachelor to single dad raising a teen daughter overnight?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, Kuu. It’s actually his half-sister. His dad decided to retire and move to a nowhere town when he met Rukia’s mother. Poor man. She was a premium gold digger and Byakuya knew that. Well, everyone knew that, but he didn’t care, he didn’t listen. Byakuya cut ties after that and lo and behold: the woman leaves them right after giving birth. Disappeared with just a suitcase and half their savings Shunsui told me.”

“Damn, that’s rough.”

“And that’s only the half of it. Poor guy died last summer and left his underage daughter with nothing after cutting ties with everyone. Then a lawyer calls Byakuya, who didn’t even know about his illness. Can you imagine the shock? Then he gets there and comes back with her because now he’s her closest living relative.”

“That’s fucked up. Can’t imagine what Kuchiki must feel now.”

“Yeah he hasn’t been himself in the past months, we’ve been getting behind schedule too but you know, parenting responsibilities and stuff.”

-

When she gets home afterwards, she calls Orihime, who answers the phone with chipper gusto: “HAPPY NEW YEAR. Rukia? It’s you, Rukia?”

She can hear the happy clamor in the background, familiar voices laughing and singing and suddenly, it is just too much.

“What’s wrong Rukia?” Orihime, sweet angel on earth, she sounds alarmed. At that Rukia starts crying. It takes a moment to hold herself together again.

“I just miss it all. I miss Dad. I miss my home.”

The day after, she packs a small bag, gathers the money she saved up from her art commissions and heads out. She leaves a letter on the kitchen table, an apology of sorts. It’s better this way.

-

They come to find her a week later.

It is late in the afternoon and she is drinking tea on the veranda at the back (“the depression spot” as Orihime nicknamed it), brooding and wrapped in a thick cozy blanket, when Ichigo settles next to her and almost gives her a heart attack.

“What in the hell are you doing here?” She chokes on her tea.

“Sometimes I forget how naïve you can be. But that’s endearing.” Then he sighs. “Inoue’s mom called Byakuya and then I kind of eavesdropped and long story short here I am but those are all details so moving on to more important things: how have you been?”

She sets her teacup aside and keeps her gaze focused on the horizon line. She can almost make out the grey sea.

“I just needed to get out.”

“I know.”

He scoots closer, “You forgot this.” It’s only then that she looks at him, fully appraising his face. It feels good but odd, having Ichigo by her side in her hometown. He stands out against the picturesque background of Orihime’s traditional house, too sharp, too hip. He has her sketchpad in his hand but before she can take it back and yell at him for undoubtedly snooping in her room, he says again:

“You have to promise you won’t get mad.”

“What did you do? I mean apart from clearly intruding my privacy and rummaging through my room?”

“First of all, I’m not the one who picked it up, your brother did. Which was actually nice in intention but admittedly flawed in execution…”

“Ichigo!”

“Yeah I, er… I kinda showed some sketches to Karin and then she kinda showed them to her boss.”

“YOU DID WHAT?” She rips up the sketchbook from his hands and starts hitting him with it.

“You promised you wouldn’t get mad!”

“I never promised anything, you intrusive little-”

“Wait wait wait, hear me out!” His hands drop to her shoulders and his grip is tight. “Her boss actually loved it and wants to see more. If you send him a book, he might be interested in giving you a job as a freelance.”

She drops the book on the wooden floor and stares blankly.

“It’s all up to you of course. I’m just saying, you have options.” He hands her a card, emerald and golden, with the cutest bobbed cat as a logo. It reads: Urahara Studio.

“I mean this is just in case you might, you know, come back to Karakura and stuff.” His voice trails at the end of his sentence and Ichigo gets very quiet. He looks at her wistfully, and Rukia feels her heart grows twice its size. She cannot help the stupidly adoring look she knows she has on her face. Her hands rise to his chest and she pulls him closer, her head resting on his chest.

“Thank you Ichigo”. He holds her tight and shushes: “Don’t mention it.”

After a while, he starts fidgeting and looking around him nervously.

“What is it, Ichigo?”

Red spots high on his cheeks then, and he scratches the back of his head awkwardly.

“Er, I kind of brought something else with me.”

She cups his cheek gently and smiles.

“It’s surprise after surprise with you today.”

He leans against her touch and mumbles: “Well, I’m not the only one who missed you a lot.”

He points behind him and she suddenly spots her brother, patiently waiting in the hallway. “Kuchiki,” Ichigo calls out and Byakuya steps out. “Hello Rukia,” he greets.

“I better leave you two then.” A strident laughter breaks out in the entire house.

“Who – Kyouraku?” Rukia stares back and forth at her brother and Ichigo, incredulous.

Ichigo rolls his eyes. “Yeah the golden duo insisted on joining. I think this is a vacation trip for them.”

They hear the sharp sound of glass breaking and Ichigo groans. He pats Rukia’s shoulder, nods at Byakuya when passing by him and sets off.

“Stop making fuss at other people’s house, you animals,” they can hear him yell at the front door.

-

They take a walk around the neighborhood. No word is spoken as they wander, first without any particular direction, and then toward Rukia’s old house. She unconsciously took the lead to there, as if her feet too knew how badly she needs the familiar. She hasn’t come back to see it yet ever since she came back. She was scared to see it gathering dust; instead, the house stands tall and pristine, as if they had never left.

“The Yamamoto family down the road was nice enough to offer maintenance services,” he explains carefully, as if reading her thoughts.

She doesn’t look back at him just yet. Instead, she sticks to tasting snowflakes with the tip of her tongue. Childish hobby, childish glee.

“The Yamamotos were always nice to Dad and me,” she says. Then: “When are you planning to sell the house?”

He seems taken aback, which is just a weird look on him. She can’t help but rising an eyebrow questioningly.

“This is not mine to do, Rukia. As per Father’s last wishes, you’re the one set to inherit the house when you come of age.”

She almost chokes on her breath. She snaps and drops to her knees. “You’d think someone would think of telling me.”

From the corner of her eye, she studies his tall figure next to her. In the past few months, they have rarely stood this close.

“I’m sorry I left like that.”

She draws little circles in the snow.

“It’s just that I don’t get it. Any of it. No one will just tell me things.”

“That might be one thing we have in common.” Byakuya takes a deep breath then. “Father never actually told me he was sick. A year ago, he called and tried to make amends. He asked me to come here. To meet you. And I hung up on him. I told him I did not have time for this. The last time we talked, and I hung up on him, and now he is gone. I guess I just thought I would atone for everything by at least fulfilling his last will.”

It's the most he’s ever said, the saddest he’s ever sounded, and the closest they’ve ever gotten to feeling bonded by more than unfortunate circumstances. Rukia buries her face in her lap to silence the ringing in her ears.

“I don’t want to be a burden or an embarrassment to you.”

He drops his hand to her shoulder, and she looks up, startled but exhausted.

“Feeling home. I guess that’s what I miss the most.”

He really looks at her then, and she’s surprised to find him resigned, almost defeated.

“Perhaps this was all a mistake in my own judgement,” he concedes. He stands up and says “Let’s go back, it’s getting too cold. I will discuss organizational matters with your friend’s parents later.”

-

That night, Byakuya decides to stay at the Kuchiki house with Kyouraku, Ukitake and Ichigo, while Rukia remains at Orihime’s.

She returns to her “depression spot” after dinner and her friend joins her.

“You’re gonna end up with a cold,” Orihime warns gently. Then she asks: “Feeling better?”

“Yes,” Rukia wets her lips. She scrunches up her nose.

“You’re such a bad liar, Rukia”. Her chuckle is hearty and feminine. “You really have the worst tells!”

“I do feel better being here with you, Orihime.” This time it’s more genuine.

Rukia thinks of the perpetually empty fourth seat in their dinner room, amidst happy chatter and enthusiastic tableware clinking sounds; it is Sora’s, Orihime’s older brother who died too early from a stupid car accident. She thinks of Ichigo’s family and their dinner traditions, and the beautiful poster Mr. Kurosaki keeps in their living room.

“I think I might not go back to Karakura. I’m not sure. But Byakuya plans talk to your mom and –”

She raises her eyebrows and stares quizzically: “After all that?”

Then, she says shakes her head. “I’m so confused.”

“No I’m the one confused, what do you mean after all that?”

She looks even more puzzled then.

“Well, you know, I heard mom and your friends talk about it while you were out with your brother. Yeah I was eavesdropping, but it was for a good cause and Ishida always says that it’s OK to break rules and even that that’s what he likes about me because my heart is pure-”

“Focus, Orihime!” Rukia says a bit too insistently.

“My bad… Well, you know what she told them? That your brother actually fought her tooth and nail back then to become your legal guardian. Like, he chose to, Rukia. In your father’s will, his first choice was actually my parents but it also mentioned that he wished your brother would be there for you cause, well, you know, you’re family? Flash forward to the end of the week and he comes to my mother and says that he wants to step up as a brother and fully take charge. Like, he didn’t just ask to become your legal guardian, Mom says he practically begged her for it and –”

Rukia leaps to her feet and rushes to the backdoor.

“I’ll be right back; tell your mom I went for a walk!”

-

As she raises her fist to knock on the door, it opens and almost hits her in the head. She comes face to face with her brother. Behind him, in the kitchen at the back of the hallway, she can hear Ichigo yelling.

“And don’t come back until you grow a pair!”

“Ichigo, you can’t talk to him like that we’re at his house.”

“You need to look more technically Juushirou, we’re at his girlfriend’s house so Ichigo’s actually at an advantage.”

“Will you two please shut up about it, you’re so inappropriate…”

Rukia stops listening to their banter and instead considers the tense man standing in front of her. She’s still panting from her erratic sprint to her old house, but she manages to blurt out:

“You chose this.” It’s almost accusatory.

“I did,” he simply says.

He looks uncharacteristically soft, unsettlingly open. She falls on her bottom, exhausted and not caring for the cold of the frozen ground.

“You chose me,” she breathes out. Rukia closes her eyes, tries to soothe the harsh beating of heart against her chest.

“I did,” he says again. “I want to make up for lost time. I’ve been trying to – I want to get to know you better Rukia.”

He reaches for her hand to help her stand out. She takes it and doesn’t let go as she stands next to him. She laughs and thinks: “This can be a start.”

“How sweet, a happy ending,” Kyouraku coos from the back.

“Will you let them have their moment, Jesus?”

“Technically, now you’re interrupting too Ichigo…”

This time they both laugh.

-

The months afterwards pass too quickly. On January 14th, Rukia celebrates her eighteenth birthday at their apartment and Kyouraku brings a “super special tea recipe from [his] hometown” that leaves everyone hangover in the morning, even her poor unsuspecting brother. To this day, he assures that it was an innocent mix up. In February, Rukia meets with Urahara Kisuke, Karin’s boss, who says he loves her style and would love to see what else she can do. In March, Ichigo completes 80% of his novel and they finally share their first kiss in front of his house, after yet another animated family dinner; it is interrupted by the sound of a camera flashing and Isshin and Karin yelling: “FUCKING FINALLY.”

-

**spring**

Leaning against a wall, Rukia traces circles with her right foot and listens to the indistinct chatter of excited new graduates. Then she spots a familiar color in the crowd, walking towards her.

“I’ll miss not seeing you in a uniform anymore,” Ichigo tells her before taking her in his arms.

She grins.

“You know we can always remedy to that.”

He turns a vivid red and flicks her forehead.

“Your brother might hear you,” he scolds, horrified. “Then he’ll accuse me of corrupting his precious little sister even though you were born wicked and are the one toying with me mercilessly.”

“He’s still talking to Ms. Shihoin about Karakura UC. Besides, we both know you definitely contributed to my perceived loss of purity...”

He’s about to retort something again so she kisses him. It’s a quick, chaste peck, but it ensures her winning of this round at last.

“Are Kyouraku and Ukitake joining us for dinner?”

“Yeah, he told me their plane was late but they’ll make it. He was very sorry he missed the ceremony though.”

She shrugs. “There’s always my graduation from college.”

“You’re such an overachiever.” He teases at first, but then his face grows serious. “Will it really be okay? I mean, juggling classes and work?”

Rukia actually stops to think about it. Two weeks ago, she received an admission letter to Karakura UC’s Art Department, a last-minute miracle after she had given up all hope and already accepted a freelancing job at Urahara Studio. After days of overthinking and discussing with Ichigo, her brother, Orihime, her mom, Kyouraku, Ukitake and a waitress at the coffee shop down the block, it’s Ms. Shihoin who prompted her ultimate decision.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just want to keep my options open. See more stuff, figure what I really like. Besides, I’ll only work at Urahara’s part-time. I’ll manage.”

He kisses her forehead and hugs her tighter. “Yeah you will. You’re a champ.”

She sighs then. “Anyways, I have to focus on sorting things in Seireitei first.”

Selling the house is not a decision she has fully digested yet, although she was the only responsible behind. But she knows it’s right.

“You know. It was my home, but now I have new things to look forward to.”

She buries her face deep in his chest and mumbles “This is my home now” before sinking deeper into him, until her face gets all red and she can’t breathe anymore. When she looks up to grasp for air, Ichigo is looking at her with warm eyes that melts her legs, makes her all soft.

“You know,” he starts carefully, “I didn’t get to see much of Seireitei the last time we were there. Think Byakuya would mind me joining?”

He bends down so they can stand forehead to forehead. Rukia smiles and leans forward.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ichigo's manuscript draft is largely inspired by my memories of Roland Barthes' mourning diary.
> 
> I started writing this two or three years ago and then completely forgot about it. Then lockdown happened, I got bored and rediscovered it in my drafts. Thinking about the injustice that is Bleach and all the wasted potential is still to this day the one thing that inspires me the most to write. (Is that sad? I think it is.) Anyways, if you're reading this, I hope you're staying safe. Godspeed.


End file.
